The Night Mother's Daughter
by Stern Gamboge
Summary: Yufiza, a Bosmer girl in the Imperial Prison, tells her story of three years in the Dark Brother and how she came to be imprisoned. Rated for violence, gore, adult themes
1. First Murder

The guardsman started to enjoy his watch. The Imperial City prison was supposed to be a filthy, unpleasant experience for the inmates, and the guards were supposed to make it worse for them. But this one, Felius Ciro, had a reason to be distracted from his kicking of slop buckets and spitting on prisoners: there was one woman in a cell, a Bosmer, who he found nothing short of captivating. This evening, she was lying back on the layer of fur robes Felius had fetched for her recently, her body stretched lazily as she rested her head on a bucket, reading a book. That, too, was a gift of his to her. It wasn't much: _The Disaster at Ionith_; but anything to cure her boredom during the day was going to put her in a better mood when he could come and talk to her.

She saw him in the corner of her vision and put the book down on her stomach. 'Oh, hello Felius.' In the dim light she looked almost ghostly, and he wondered how she was able to read in almost complete darkness. He supposed it was because her eyes would have adjusted to the darkness after two months in prison.

He touched his helmet lightly, muttering 'miss.' He was rewarded with a little smile, her white teeth showing brightly when her pale lips parted. He walked on quickly, checking on all the other cells as briefly as he could, and shortly returned to talk to her. The two of them sat down on either side of the barred door. 'Chilly tonight,' he grunted. She shrugged her thin shoulders lightly.

'Is it? It's always cold down here,' she said, her voice thin and quiet so that the other inmates didn't notice her.

'Sorry, hold on,' Felius said as he stood up, walked down the corridor for a moment and fetched a torch from a wall bracket. He carefully passed it through the bars, and she propped it up in her empty water pitcher.

'Thank you, Felius,' she said, rubbing her hands. She looked particularly pale tonight, he thought. 'How is your mother?' He sighed, frowning.

'She managed to walk downstairs for breakfast this morning,' he said, 'but was exhausted afterwards.'

'It's a start, isn't it?' she said. 'Last week you said she couldn't even open her eyes – who knows, with any luck in a few more weeks she'll be well enough to walk around for a whole day. Look on the bright side!'

He smiled weakly and nodded. 'I suppose so. But she was well before her illness, so she might get bad again…' The Bosmer frowned. She had youthful features and a smooth complexion, but her eyes had the depth of wisdom, as if she were older than she looked.

'I wish I could help,' she said softly. 'But obviously-' she reached out and tapped the bars with a long, dirty fingernail '-not possible in here.' Felius said nothing for a moment, pondering. Most of the prisoners didn't like to talk about it, but he'd been her friend for a while now, so…

'Why are you in here, anyway? If you don't mind me asking,' he added quickly. She smiled sweetly, silently, as she paused.

'Murder.' Her eyes flashed slightly savagely when she said it, but Felius wondered how anyone that looked so innocent could commit something so terrible.

'Who?'

'My brother. He…defiled me. Twice.' She looked away for an instant, her usually strong but quiet exterior faltering before she turned back to face him.

'You should have reported him,' Felius said. 'He would be here instead of you.' This was a macabre conversation, and he was beginning to regret asking her now. But she had no scruples about it, apparently, for she continued:

'Well, that was the first murder. And I certainly don't regret it.'

'The first?' He should be afraid of her, he thought, he should be terrified or disgusted, but all he could muster in his heart was more fascination in this woman. She seemed to surprise him with some little bit of information about her every time they spoke.

'Yes, because that was…something of an epiphany for me, when I killed him,' she said. 'It's a long story – do you have time?'

'My shift doesn't end for hours,' Felius said. 'I've got time.'

And so Yufiza Meldor told her story.

I'm probably going to sound quite shocking to you. I'm not going to shy away from the grisly details, because I don't want you to think that I haven't been affected by the events of my life. I have, to the point where the pictures have been imprinted into my memory so clearly I can see them now, with my waking eyes. I will share them with you.

I was seventeen years old, living with my family in a reasonable sized house in Anvil. My older brother, Shiroth, was only a year older than me, and I thought him strikingly odd – he didn't seem to have any friends, he didn't have a job, he spent all his time at home. Things like that. Meanwhile I liked to spend my time with a few other girls in town, and an awful lot of our energy seemed to be spent in baiting Shiroth. We were hardly fair to him, and he hated us with a passion.

One night he decided he'd get revenge; on the most subversive, devious and cruel person in the gang. Me. I was always the one who managed to creep into his room unnoticed while he sat down and read books or just pondered by his fireplace; I was always the one who managed to steal his things under his nose, or pinch him and get away unscathed. I was the one who laughed the hardest. It was about two in the morning when he walked into my own room. I was reading by candlelight, and this time I was the one who was caught by surprise when he extinguished the candle with a pinch, slapped the book out of my hand and leapt on top of me furiously.

'Get off me!' I squealed. 'Shiroth, I'll tell mother – go away, you pervert!'

'Shut up,' he hissed, slapping me hard across the face to make his point. He was much stronger than me, broad where I was skinny and strong where I was thin. He didn't even bother to pull the duvet over us, or to undress me or himself fully. He just loosened his britches, lifted my nightdress and forced himself into me. I was a virgin. I was in so much pain I wanted to cry out, but every time I squeaked or even breathed too loudly Shiroth would just hit me again, and so I could only lie underneath him as he raped me bloody. I won't elaborate on that – the memory still sickens me.

'If you tell anyone,' he said as he got up, 'I'll kill you. And that friend of yours, the little Breton bitch.' And at that he left, and I could only lie there and cry myself to sleep.

He had won. He could have just tried to prank me back somehow, and I would have just suffered mild indignation. But instead he wounded me deeply, taking my pride and my virginity with it as if that were a balanced retaliation. I didn't go out and meet my friends the next day, but that night he came in again, and did the same. It wasn't as painful that time, but the injustice of it hurt horribly. Doing it once was crime enough, but doing it a second time sealed his fate.

The next night I murdered him. He came into my room and I didn't even protest as he lifted my nightdress, but he paused in confusion when I giggled. He loosened his grip on my wrist, and there lay his downfall because at that moment I reached for the steak knife under my pillow and plunged it into his throat. I twisted away from him and stood beside him as he choked on my bed, staining it in his own blood, and as he looked at me with a withered, frightened expression, I grinned as daintily as I could before taking the knife out and shoving it into his crotch. A spurt of blood reached my white nightdress and stained it, and though I tried to rub it off I ended up smearing it there.

But of course I told you that was my first murder, didn't I? Well, that much is true – but your friends in the Imperial Watch don't know about it, because it later turned out somebody got in and changed some things; I'll get to that part later in the story. Well, after that killing I couldn't stay at home and be caught. I knew my family would disown me, or worse. So I fled that instant, still in the bloody nightie, and snuck past the gate guards to leave Anvil.

I walked for a long time, wearing my slippers down and blistering my feet. It was dawn when I finally stopped, collapsing on the ground and falling to sleep in the long grass, somewhere. I hadn't paid any attention to where I was going, just that I wanted to get as far away from home as possible. My parents were aloof from me anyway, I told myself. They wanted to marry me off to someone local and not do an awful lot with my life. Most of my friends were probably going to be carted off like that, I thought.

I was awoken in darkness. Well, dimness. I was lying on a dirty straw mattress in the corner of an underground chamber of an Elven ruin. There were a few torches lit around the place, and I saw two grubby looking Nord men with axes and bows slung over their shoulders, chatting to one another. They spotted that I had awoken, and one of them looked at me with a wolfish grin on his face.

'Our songbird has woken up,' he said. His friend turned and chuckled. My head felt heavy and my sight was a little blurred, but I was still aware enough to know that these men were bandits. I had heard about how they used old ruins as hideouts, stealing the ancient treasures and avoiding the authorities as they plundered the place before moving on.

'Well, we haven't made her sing yet…' the other one said, taking a step towards me.

'We will, I think,' the first man growled, winking at me. 'You'll be a good little girl, won't you darling?' I hesitated for an instant, and then, deciding, I stood up and ran. I got past the two of them and spotted some stairs. Heading for them, I could see sunlight at the end – but something was blocking it. Two more bandits, an Imperial man and an Altmer woman, were there. They caught me and dragged me kicking and screaming back down the stairs and past the two Nords. As I was thrown back into my corner, I managed to snatch the dagger from one of their belts. They didn't notice, mercifully, but for the rest of that day set a watch on me. I heard snippets of conversation as various members of the gang arrived and left throughout the day, and I overheard that I was being "saved" for their leader, who would return later that night.

_You've killed once_, I told myself. _With a hidden knife, you did it. Do it again tonight – but bide your time!_

I did. I was never patient in my childhood, but the sequence of events since I had plotted my brother's death had forced me to change, so that I was more capable of waiting for the opportune moment before striking. Even as I felt lost and alone, I was planning the end of the boss. _I can escape like I did before_, I told myself. _Throat first, that'll shut the scum up_.

It worked perfectly. Most of them were asleep when the boss returned to the hideout (which I later learned was Vilverin, not far from this prison), and the only one left awake went to bed as soon as he had pointed the boss in my direction. He was a fairly tall Imperial, and he was quite happy to get straight to business – I could tell from the glint in his eye and the bulge in his trousers, and the way his hands quickly undressed me.

_Wait for it_.

He bent down and kissed me roughly, his hands roving up and down my sides.

_Wait for it_.

He pulled his shirt off, fondled me for a moment as if he thought I enjoyed it, and then lay down on top of me.

_Wait for it…_

_Now!_

I slashed the knife straight across his neck, covering myself in his blood as he choked in silence. I rolled out from underneath him, kissed his cheek, and stood up with blood on my hands, my face, my skin. I picked up my filthy nightdress, quickly slid it on despite its unpleasant condition, and in the same slicing motion I cut the throats of the bandits as they slept, taking a pair of leather boots and a belt to tie the knife to. Then I fled, and once again I was out on my own – but this time, I think, a little wiser of the world, and less traumatised by the deaths I had just caused. It seemed almost normal to me.

After washing in the Nibenay, I realised I had nowhere to go.

I sat down and let the cool night soothe me, and that was when I was given hope. I was found by the Dark Brotherhood.


	2. Into the Cold, Loving Embrace

After the last meeting, Felius had been reluctant to leave. He was fascinated by the fact that this woman, Yufiza Meldor, was an assassin – and yet she always seemed so sweet and innocent! He wasn't scared off by her, only further intrigued. Should he tell anybody that she was Dark Brotherhood? No, no, if she's in prison then she has no escape. No point in telling anyone, they might kill her – she can't do any harm any more.

Felius rushed through the corridor of the prison cells as fast as he could before returning to Yufiza, who tonight had wrapped her fur cloaks around herself to keep warm. She was looking a little healthier than the last time he had seen her, and she smiled warmly when he sat down to speak with her. She kicked away a thin rat carcass before speaking.

'I finished reading the book hours ago.'

'Sorry,' Felius apologised meekly, 'I can get another one to you in my next shift.' She smiled and nodded, wiping her mouth as if she had an itch. 'But I think your own story is very interesting.' He offered a weak smile, and she laughed quietly.

'You're charming,' she said. 'I suppose you're going to want to hear the next bit, aren't you?' He nodded quickly, and she shrugged, drew in a deep breath and continued.

So in the middle of the night, sitting on a rock, I was tapped on the shoulder. Naturally I twisted around in fear, leaping away from the rock and almost tripping over. The visitor, who was cloaked and hooded all in black, chuckled thinly: I could just make out that he was a Breton and that he had a clean-shaven jaw, but his other features were practically invisible in the darkness.

'Hello…Yufiza,' he said, raising a gloved hand in greeting. I clutched the hilt of the knife at my belt and glared at him. 'I wouldn't, my dear, I did not come here to cause you any harm.' He paused. I said nothing. 'Nor to steal anything from you.' He paused again, as if expecting an answer. I was too afraid to speak, so after a resigned sigh he spoke again: 'I come to you with an offer from the Night Mother.'

_Who?_

'You have proven yourself to be…competent at ending lives without causing a fuss, miss Meldor. Even when you disposed of your brother; that may have been clumsy, but the first murder normally is. Yours was more articulate than most, and, more importantly, you performed it in cold blood.'

'What are you saying?' I finally summoned up the courage to ask. 'Who are you?'

'Forgive me, I was so eager to speak with you that I failed to introduce myself,' the Breton said. 'I am Lucien Lachance, a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood.' He paused to let that sink in, and I must have had a look of shock on my face for he said: 'So you have heard of us. Good. It might interest you to know, miss Meldor, that after you fled from your bedroom two days ago I rearranged the evidence. You are dead, not wanted, according to the world.' I nodded dumbly, not quite sure whether I should be forward with this mysterious stranger.

'So…so you want me to join you?' I asked slowly. He nodded and his teeth shone in the moonlight as he smiled.

'I was hoping you would be intelligent enough to work that out,' he said. 'If you wish to join our order and start a new life, you can carry out a simple task for the Night Mother to prove your worth to her. Are you interested?'

_What else can I do? I'm "dead" now, that means I'm free. I could be feared, or at least powerful enough to rule my own destiny. This Night Mother is rather frightening, though…but if she thinks I have potential, surely I've found my talent? I'm good at it! But what is the task? Will he tell me?_

'I'm interested,' I said at last. Lucien smiled again, and even in my hungry plight I had the spirit in me to think him attractive, from the features I could make out in the silvery, dim light. He had a strong jaw and his grey eyes shone slightly, and he was a few inches taller than myself. He nodded to me, this time seriously.

'Very good. Then, should you wish to be accepted into the warm embrace of the Night Mother, you must follow the Green Road to the Inn of Ill Omen. A man named Rufio is lodging there. Kill him in whatever way you see fit. Once you have done so, I will seek you out and contact you in a location I deem secure. Am I understood?'

'Yes,' I said, nodding like a little girl. I wasn't killing because I had to, now. I was killing because I wanted to. I noticed numbly that this didn't shock me, when I had expected it to. I was meant for this world of shadows and death, where I could be a queen instead of a timid child, innocent and useless. Lucien smiled at me once more and blew a kiss, and then he vanished. Just disappeared.

I decided that I had nothing better to do for the rest of that night but sleep, even though it was cold and I still had nothing but my nightie and a pair of fur boots. With a pang of regret I realised I had been in such a rush to escape Vilverin that I had not thought to take any warm clothes from there. But if I returned…_did I kill everyone? What if somebody comes back?_ I slept dreamlessly and awoke with neck cramp, chilled to the bone and aching all over.

Stretching painfully, I had to begin my long journey southwards at some point, and so it was that I began to walk alongside the Nibenay with the white towers of the Imperial City rising up to the clouds over my head. By midday I had reached the southernmost point of the City Isle, and then I began to walk the Green Road, up into the wooded hills towards my destination. I was in truth giddy with excitement. How would I kill this Rufio? Should I seduce him? Or perhaps I should simply wait for him to go to sleep and then knife him in the dark…

I arrived at the Inn of Ill Omen in the early evening, and realised that my form of dress was probably going to attract unsavoury attention.

_Nothing I can do about that_, I thought miserably, and walked inside. It was busy inside, with people smoking and talking at the bar or on chairs by the fireplace. One person in a hooded cloak brushed past me, and I felt the iron scabbard of a dagger thrust behind my belt – somebody had just given me a weapon. I looked around, but the figure had vanished much like Lucien had done the night before. So, in my strange attire, I found myself sitting at the bar trying to consider my options.

'Drink, miss?' the barkeep asked, seeming either not to notice my bloodstained nightie or not to care.

'No, thank you,' I said timidly. 'Not sure I can afford it,' I added rather pathetically. What happened next was a gift.

'I can pay for it,' the man next to me said, placing a hand on my arm and looking at me. He was probably in his mid fifties, with greying hair lining a receding bald patch. 'If you like?' At the time I had no idea who he was, but I was thirsty anyway, and I had little to lose from it.

'Yes please,' I said gratefully, smiling at him. But I noticed he had his hand on my arm, and that felt uncomfortable. I was about to remove it when he said:

'My pleasure, love; barkeep, an ale for this young beauty! Name's Rufio, by the way.'

_Let him_, I told myself. I kept down a shudder as I thought of my arms being forced down by my brother, and instead smiled innocently up at him. _I'm terrible at this_. I felt panic rising: _What do I say? I can't give him my real name, he might have hear_-

'What's your name, love?' Rufio asked, passing the half-pint of ale into my hand and releasing my arm. That was a bit better. _Think!_

'Edana,' I stuttered, thinking of a name I had read somewhere once. Rufio, in all honesty, was not altogether unpleasant. He was clean and his breath was odourless; certainly I probably seemed more foul than he did at the time. I just hated the idea of tempting him only so I could make myself even filthier in other people's blood. I had worn the same disgusting nightdress for days, and if I had to entice him like I had done to my brother and the bandit leader I would only get myself further drenched in blood. Perhaps I would have to steal some clothes eventually. _His?_

'Beautiful name,' Rufio said. _Do I have to kill him? He's not so bad…_

'Thank you,' I said nervously, sipping my ale quietly. I didn't want to drink the whole thing, at least not quickly – I am, as you can see, rather small, and the one mug could have inebriated me quite solidly. 'And thanks for the…drink, too. I needed it.'

'Not a problem, my dear,' Rufio said cheerfully. He seemed to be a common sort of man, and I took his apparent forwardness as just the way he was used to behaving. He was polite enough, and so far hadn't tried to assault me with innuendo or suggestions. I wondered what offence he had committed, and why the Night Mother wanted him dead. He lowered his voice a little. 'So why is it that a pretty girl your age has come to this dark little inn with no money and a filthy but…apparently expensive dress?'

_Oh gods_.

'This?' I murmured, looking down at my blood-and-mud-stained nightie. 'It was…second hand, because the person I got it from didn't want it.' He looked at me quizzically, and I continued: 'She ripped it, here.' The small tear I had got walking down the Green Road that day was in fact a small gift, because without it I don't know what I might have done. The truth was certainly not a very popular option.

'Ah…and the blood, and being here?' he asked. _He's onto me_, I thought with a flash of panic going through me.

'My…mother just gave birth this morning, in the early hours,' I lied. 'And my father gets angry quite easily, so when he sent me to fetch my uncle from Leyawiin he was…well, a bit forceful in getting me out of the house. I didn't have time to change.'

'Or to get to your uncle, apparently,' Rufio commented. I nodded and tried my best to look sad, though after delivering that excellent lie I had returned to the giddiness of anticipating my success. I _was_ good at this! 'It all seems a bit desperate for you right now,' he said thoughtfully. 'You definitely can't travel south any more today, there are bandits and wolves in them woods.' He finished his mug of beer and pushed it away. 'I'm not so rich myself, but I already have a room here tonight and you can have the bed if you want. I'll sleep on the floor.' He paused, frowning deliberately (I think). 'Can't help you out with clothes, though, I'm afraid.'

'That's…that's very kind of you Mr. Rufio, thank you,' I said. I wasn't nervous any more, but I decided to keep that appearance up to stay in character, or he would suspect something. 'Do you have a tub I could wash in?'

'I'll talk to the innkeeper,' he said. 'You going to finish your ale now, or head downstairs?' I stood up. 'Fair enough, see you in a few minutes.' I shot him a thankful glance and walked down to his room, hoping that I would get a chance to wash myself and my clothes before I had to do the deed. His room had no window but was well lit with candles and torches, and sure enough had a single bed at the end of the room. I sat down on it and folded my legs as I waited for him, taking my dagger out and shoving it into the side of the mattress where he couldn't see it, but where I could grab it from later. Shortly, he walked in.

He shook his head apologetically. 'Sorry, love, he says he hasn't got a tub spare. You'll have to do without.' I groaned as quietly as I could and nodded rather pathetically.

'Alright, thank you anyway,' I said, and forced a yawn.

'Tired?' I nodded. 'I can put the lights out now if you want,' Rufio said. 'I'm a bit tired myself, if you want to have a sleep now.' I nodded again and slid under the thin blanket, shivering a little. Compared to the last night I had suffered through, it felt remarkably comfortable. I actually fell asleep there and then, and didn't wake up until the night had worn on considerably.

Rufio was asleep in the chair beside the bed. Apparently he had been watching me as I slept, but rather surprisingly had not touched me. I actually felt a pang as I silently slipped out of bed, slid the dagger out of the mattress and sliced his throat. He awoke at the pain, and all he could see was my smiling face as his life slithered away onto the floor. Some of it splattered on my dress, but this time only a little, because I had been careful to avoid it. 'Sorry,' I said to him, and I almost meant it. He hadn't tried to do anything to me, he hadn't made any advanced or forced me to do anything I didn't want to. In short he had been courteous and kindly, though I will never know if it was pure kindness or simply because he found my young flesh appealing.

Lucius arrived again that night after I went back to bed to try and rest some more. I awoke when he put his hand over my mouth and I squeaked a little. When I saw it was him, I fell silent.

'Skilfully done,' he whispered, lifting his hand. 'Splendid.'

'Am I in?' I asked. He grinned.

'You must travel to Cheydinhal now, and find a boarded-up, abandoned house. Pick the lock and go inside. When questioned, you must answer with "Sanguine, my brother", and you will be allowed inside. Then you can be a member of our order.'

He did not even say goodbye this time, merely touched his wrist and disappeared once again. I slept uneasily for the rest of that night.

Waking fairly late in the morning, I noticed that the body of Rufio had gone – Lucien had apparently done something about that, to ensure that I got a good night's sleep. Well, it had been the best for many nights, I suppose. But now I had to make my longest journey yet – from the Inn of Ill Omen, all the way to Cheydinhal. At least I managed to help myself to some of Rufio's food, and I also took some socks to line my stolen boots. Adding to that his tattered cloak which he kept folded on the room's only shelf, at least I wasn't going to die from hunger or cold. So the trek was bearable, and truth be told rather boring – thankfully. I don't think I could have coped with another big disruption, not so unarmed and poor and tired as I was.

But at the end I was weaker than ever, with blisters on my feet, dirt and blood on my dress, filthy, greasy hair from having not washed it properly since the whole debacle began, and I barely stumbled through the gates of Cheydinhal late at night, when most of the city had gone to sleep so that even the street lamps had burned out by then. It was so dark, and I felt a cold chill of fear slither down my spine in memory of the bloodshed of the past three nights. Darkness is when Sithis encouraged his servants to spill the crimson tears of mortals, and by then I had embraced that fact – or at least accepted it, for I was still suffering from the terror of my own actions.

I found with difficulty the abandoned house Lucien had told me about, and realised with dismay that the door had been boarded up. Vainly, I tried to tug at the nails, stopping when my fingers ached. I sat down on the grass in front of the door feeling utterly spent, and I started to cry. Somebody behind me kicked me.

'What is the colour of night?' a woman asked in a strained hiss of a whisper, lowering the cold metal of her sword to my neck. I dared not turn around.

'Sanguine, my brother,' I whimpered. She lifted the weapon and took my arm, helping me to my feet.

'I know who you are,' she said as she turned me around. 'New sister?' I assumed that meant member, so I nodded. I noticed she was a Breton girl, not much older than I was – and I was still juvenile and insecure at just seventeen. We Bosmer are not short-lived, whatever our stature. 'Come here, let me show you the way in.' She produced a lockpick and began to work on a tiny gap between two of the planks where the door's lock was. I still didn't know how she was going to get through the door, though, when it was boarded up. When the last gear in the lock clicked into place she pushed it and the door swung open – the planks simply folded in, because they were merely a deception: they had little hinges behind them.

I followed her in; it was black as ink in there, but she clicked her fingers and formed a small flame in the palm of her gloved hand. _Who is she?_ I felt overwhelmed: she was competent and prepared, leading me briskly through the dusty dimness of the abandoned house's corridors. All I could do was follow her down, ever downwards, and hope that she wasn't going to kill me. _She's already pulled a blade on me once_, I reflected nervously. But I could not have made it back up now, without any guiding light.

We arrived at a dead end, with a stone wall decorated in murals depicting the Night Mother standing over four of her servants with a blade. It also had a bloody hand imprinted at the top. The Breton girl pressed her left hand against the door and waited for a moment before murmuring 'Sanguine, my brother' and passing through the door. As I approached it, the door slammed shut in my face. I stopped, heart pounding with fear. _This is it_.

_Go_.

I did nothing.

_Go now!_

I did nothing.

_Just fuc-_

I thrust the palm of my hand against the door and waited in silence. A voice, thick as fur and wispy as smoke, filled my head: 'What is the colour of night?' it breathed.

_Go_.

'Sanguine, my brother,' I snapped firmly.

And as I felt myself being gently lifted through the solid stone and into my new world, I heard the voice whisper to me: 'Welcome home.'


End file.
